


38 Years

by Dusty



Category: As Time Goes By
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 03:05:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty/pseuds/Dusty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean and Lionel are alone in the house for a whole weekend for the first time since getting back together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	38 Years

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate ending to S02E02: A Weekend Away
> 
> Jean was panicked that she and Lionel had been set up by Judith and Alastair to make full use of being alone in the house together for a weekend – potentially to consummate their new relationship after a 38 year break. So she refused to see him or talk to him, told Judith she wasn’t seeing him, and started cleaning the oven instead. Lionel turned up to confront her, hurt by the idea she didn’t trust him to be alone with her. 
> 
> But Judith. Does not. Interrupt them.

The awkwardness was starting to abate. They were talking; muddling their way through, and the drinks were helping. 

"Given the situation," he said, fiddling with his tie.

“I wasn’t being completely honest about that,” she said sheepishly, cutting him off. “It wasn’t just a question of not trusting you, it was a question of not trusting myself.”

“I see,” said Lionel.

“Don’t read too much into that.”

“No, I won’t,” he said tenderly.

They were unable to break eye contact now they’d found it.

She smiled softly at him. “Sardines?”

“Pardon?”

“On toast.”

“Fine. I’ll give you a hand.”

He gazed at her. She was looking longingly at him, eyes shining. So she hadn’t trusted herself but he wasn’t to read anything into it. How could he not. He could feel the heat between them.

He outstretched his hand and cupped her face, and a moment later they were kissing. They shifted their bodies closer, Lionel gathering Jean into his arms. They melted into each other immediately; something familiar, something new, something forbidden.

Jean broke off the kiss breathlessly. “I definitely don’t trust you now,” she admonished, her eyes dancing mischievously.

“You should take it as a compliment. You’re covered in oven grease.”

She looked down at her dusty-pink shirt and grimaced at the black smudges. Lionel chuckled. He traced the collar of the baggy blouse down to the top button, then deftly undid it with one hand. The white lace trim of her bra peeped at him shyly.

“Are you by any chance better presented underneath?” he enquired, his throat dry.

Jean straightened her back, pushed out her chest and looked at him haughtily. “Go ahead. Inspect me,” she said.

Lionel swallowed and moved his fingers to the next button down. He slipped it out of its buttonhole, his eyes boring into Jean’s all the while. He graced a hand inside the blouse and tenderly felt her breast. It was like being at the back row of the cinema again. Her mouth was open slightly, her breathing irregular. He drank in the sight of her as he retracted his hand and pulled aside the gaping material, revealing her chest. His eyes fell on her cleavage.

Her skin shone, such beautiful skin; all peaches and cream, offset by the perfect ivory of her bra.  His warm hand encased one of her breasts and she sighed loudly.

“This is an improvement,” he said, smiling wickedly at her. She giggled at him. Before they could find any comic or witty remarks to spoil the moment, his lips returns to hers in an eager kiss. His tongue playfully teased hers until she yielded under his pressure, leaning back along the sofa and encouraging him into her arms. They both groaned as their bodies found and responded to one another.

Jean ran her fingers through his hair as he kissed her and kissed her and kissed her. Then it was his time to break away.

He panted at her for a moment, trying to read her. Her eyes were smoky, cheeks pink. No wonder she hadn’t trusted herself.

“Do you want to move upstairs?”

She thought about it for a moment. “We probably should.”

“Yes,” he said. “We probably should."

But they were kissing again, now more urgently. He stopped only to remove his jacket, Jean taking the opportunity to loosen his tie.

“Don’t want you starved of oxygen,” she chuckled. Her smile disappeared as she looked up at him. He was looking at her with such powerful desire it made her whimper softly. His hands, now trembling a little, fumbled with the remaining buttons until he could safely rid her of the dirty shirt.

“That’s better,” he said. She moved quickly to reciprocate, unfastening his shirt and pulling off his tie, but she only so far before he was sitting up and tugging at her jeans.

“I haven’t finished your inspection yet,” he said sternly.

“Oh!” she cried out as he yanked the denim down around her thighs.

“Matching underwear,” he said proudly, taking in the vision of her quivering in her pristine white undergarments. “All right then. You’re forgiven.”

He smiled cheekily at her, divesting her of her footwear before finally discarding the jeans. She lay back on the sofa, suddenly cold and acutely aware of her lack of clothing. But it wasn’t for long. Lionel shed his own shirt and quickly ducked down to her bra, kissing her flesh through the lace. His hands reached around and unsnapped the catch. He extracted it from Jean, whose breasts tumbled freely without the support. He kissed the expensive brassier before tossing it into the arm chair, then nestled down to appreciate her upper body.

“These have got a lot bigger,” he said casually.

She raised an eyebrow. “All hormones, I tell you,” she explained.

Lionel frowned. “Really? Nothing to do with lifestyle, then?”

She smacked him on the arm and he laughed into her left breast. “I’m not complaining,” he said.

She was going to say something else, but his hot mouth covered her nipple and her mind blew a fuse. Her fingers snaked into his hair, holding him to her. She wasn’t cold anymore.

She moaned softly, clutching at him. His mouth went to her belly, then her knickers. He kissed her hard through the cotton. She ground against his wet heat, half conscious she was lying on her sofa with Lionel Hardcastle’s face in her crotch. She’d wanted this for weeks, and now only wanted him.

The friction had gone. She opened her eyes to find him unbuckling his belt.

“Fair’s fair,” he said kindly. She reached out without thinking and ran her hand over the outline of the bulge in his trousers. His eyes glinted as she did so.

“You’re very naughty,” he chided sweetly. “Why didn’t you just do that 15 minutes ago?”

She threw him a defiant look and undid his fly, now tugging his trousers down. Underneath, his boxers were tented, a damp spot at the head of his cock.

“God I’ve missed this,” she said dizzily.

“This?” he asked with indignation, kicking his shoes off and pulling himself out of his slacks. “ _This_? What about me? What about missing _me_?”

“Oops,” she giggled filthily at him, then lapsed into a throaty laugh.

He laughed back, now as naked as her, and gave her a light smack on the thigh.

“Oi!” she protested, mirroring his action. But their smiles melted into bliss as he covered her with his body once more, his warm flesh pressing against hers. They ground together leisurely, kissing each deeply again.

He broke off the kiss one last time. “Are you sure you don’t want to go upstairs?” he asked.

She panted lightly, shaking her head. “We have the house to ourselves. I want you here. And now.”

She saw the lust come into his eyes and she knew he’d do it. He’d screw her on the sofa, just the way she wanted him to. She shimmied out of her damp knickers and helped him lose his boxers. The fact of their nudity made it all the better; hard and desperate in the living room. After 38 years apart.

He popped a cushion underneath her hips and aligned himself with her welcoming wet heat. He simply rubbed against her for a moment, causing them both to gasp and rut as she splayed out beneath him.

 _Horny minx_ , he thought to himself. Acting like she didn’t care while all the time she was burning for him. He leaned down and whispered in her ear.

“I ought to stop and walk away, you know,” he teased.

Her breath hitched.

He continued. “It would serve you right after your behaviour today. Avoiding me, telling fibs.”

He kissed her neck, his tongue running firmly along her skin. She was suddenly lost; all breathy gasps and moans, writhing in his arms. He’d forgotten just how erogenous her neck was and what a delightful reaction it got.

He pulled back to look her in the eye. She glared at him.

He chuckled. “I’ll forgive you this once. Now lie back, Jean Pargetter,” he said softly, brushing her hair off her forehead. “Think of England.”

He kissed her properly, all silliness gone. Their hands ran all over each other in synchronised and soothing caresses. Their hips sought each other out. She felt him pressing at her entrance and helped to guide him in. He thrust. They both stiffened with a loud groan; maddening heat, perfectly filled. It had been too long. She felt so soft and supple beneath him. He looked down at her with hooded eyes, breathing hard.

“OK?”

She smiled softly and nodded. “More than OK,” she whispered. She kissed him hard on the mouth and they began to move together slowly, each nerve jolting. He filled and stretched her deliciously, just as she’d imagined he would again. She savoured each ministration; his lips on hers, his warm hand on her breast. It was like being 19 again. He was steady and strong against her.

Tender and breathless, their movements quickened until they became urgent. He was thrusting hard now; Jean arching up to meet him with low moans, their impulses taking over.

He regained some control. “Oh damn,” said Lionel, panting and gently rutting. “I wanted to take it slowly. I don’t think I can.”

She held him close, cheeks flushed. “Neither can I. Let’s just do it, shall we? Just take me.” She grinned at him coquettishly.

He frowned at her as an admonishment. “I wanted this to be more than rough and tumble. I want to remember every part of you,” he said, lowering his chin and nuzzling her neck again.

She gasped, his hot mouth on that sensitive area throwing her into a lusty frenzy. She clenched around him and he growled.

“There’ll be time for that later,” she keened.

“Promise?” He sounded close to breaking.

“Promise,” she said, forcing eye contact. Her eyes flashed at him. “For now, tumble me. Roughly.”

He made a low and dirty noise as his hips responded to her command before he could think.

He began thrusting vigorously, not taking his eyes of her, their flesh slapping together. The sound of it only encouraged them. Here they were having a quick and dirty fuck on the sofa after all these years.

He could hear his own sounds of pleasure. It had been some time since he’d been vocal during sex, but Jean’s noises were killing him. She was always vocal herself, but age had thickened her voice. She no longer gasped like a naughty young nurse. Experience, knowledge and mischief resonated with every chesty cry she made; every throaty moan.

Her eyes had drifted closed, her face slack with pleasure, her cheekbones accentuated. God, she was beautiful. And hot, and wet, and definitely could not be trusted with him.

He was speeding up, though he couldn’t understand where the stamina was coming from. Beneath him, she clenched tight around his cock and pulled him in, utterly wanton. She needed this – she needed him. No wonder she had been so furiously cleaning the oven; it was the metaphorical cold shower. Only it hadn’t worked.

Her cries were becoming higher in register. He remembered her coming loudly because of him all those years ago, illicitly, in a hotel room.

He cried out at the vision in his mind, now sensing his own imminent climax. His fingers gently fondled her sex and found her clit. He pressed hard, fucking her relentlessly. He wanted to see her do it again. She opened her mouth as she tensed and tightened against him, then wailed her release, bucking underneath him.

He heard himself shout, again and again, his vision going blank. With a final fling against her he came in a glorious rush. He wasn’t sure what sort of sound he’d made. He only knew it was ringing in his ears as he regained his hearing. And then he was conscious of her giggling wickedly.

He was trembling, breathing hard. “No wonder you didn’t bloody well trust yourself. You’re a wicked minx. Look what you’ve done to me.”

She grinned. “If you’ve left a mark on my sofa…”

“If _I_ have??” he asked incredulously. “Have you any idea what state you’re in right now?”

“It’s your fault,” she said, her tone petulant.

“I’d forgotten what a handful you could be,” he chided. “Damned impudent shrew.”

He broke into a warm and delighted grin as she chuckled. He carefully disentangled himself, attempting to snuggle up and spoon her. It had the unfortunate effect of pushing her off the sofa and onto the floor.

“Oh!” she shouted as she landed unceremoniously in a naked heap. She stopped to shoot daggers at Lionel who’d sat up in horror, before she reached for her shirt. She covered her breasts with it; a futile attempt at modesty given she was naked from the waist down.

“Sorry,” he said, clearly mortified. “Perhaps we ought to go upstairs for this bit.”

She blushed. “Perhaps,” she said with a sweet smile. _Poor Lionel._

He began to gather his belongings, also now aware of wearing nothing, and they both headed clumsily towards the hall.

Jean suddenly stopped. “What about the sardines?”

“Later,” he barked. “I haven’t finished seeing to you yet.”

“Oh…” she mewled, squirming on the spot, eyes twinkling.

He ushered her out of the room and up the stairs, feeling the weight of 38 years disappear into thin air.


End file.
